


Faith

by orphan_account



Series: the ocean is six miles deep [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know me now. I’m only good at beginnings.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> this is sort of a continuation of 'submarine', though you can read this alone, too.

**_4 days before_ **

 ‘ _Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles, I’m feeling very still..._ ’

“It’s bad enough that you keep playing this shit— _oh_ .... _Tooru_ —”

‘ _And I think my spaceship knows which way to go_...’

Tooru bit at the side of Hajime’s jaw, and he could feel him grin against his skin.

‘ _Tell my wife I love her very much, she knows..._ ’

“I am _not_ going to fuck you to David Bowie,” Hajime gritted out, and Tooru laughed lightly, grinding and rutting against him with his knees pressed into the couch.

“It’s vinyl, though.”

“You’re so goddamn pretentious, why did you even buy— _ah_...”

Hajime moaned and let his hands slide around to the small of Tooru’s back, pulling him closer and biting and nipping at the sensitive expanse of skin below his ear.

“That feels nice,” Tooru murmured, and he moaned lightly, “ _Hajime_...”

‘ _Ground Control to Major Tom, your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong—_ ’

The sound made Hajime’s cock twitch and he groaned. David Bowie had been forgotten momentarily and he let his eyes slip close and bury his nose into the junction of Tooru’s shoulders and neck.

‘ _Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom?_ ’ the song repeated.

“These lyrics don’t make any sense,” said Hajime, voice muffled by Tooru’s skin, “He’s just saying the same thing over and over again.”

“They’re _profound_ ,” Tooru laughed, though it was cut off by Hajime grinding up towards him once more.

“Oh, God— _Hajime_ —” he moaned, “Love it,” he slurred, “Love it when you do that.”

“Yeah?” he answered, far too easily.

“Yeah,” Tooru’s voice heightened by an octave as Hajime repeated the motion, “ _Fuck_ , yeah.”

‘ _Can you hear— and I’m floating around my tin can, far above the moon_... _Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do._ ’ the song finished.

“No shit,” mumbled Hajime in response to the lyrics, “I swear to God, Tooru, if I didn’t love you so much I’d have killed you by now.”

His words make Tooru’s skin crawl and pulse quicken.

“You’re such a brute, Hajime,” he laughed, “How did you end up with such a gentle beauty as me?”

“No idea.”

“Ah, so you think I’m beautiful?” he teased.

“Yeah,” answered Hajime in earnest, “I do.”

Tooru felt his chest tighten at that, and he bit his lower lip a little in annoyance of his emotions. He was far too vulnerable in front of Hajime, always; he made him feel entirely _vulnerable_. Hajime could ruin him if he wanted, and he’d probably let him.

Tooru reached out and pressed his hand against the back of Hajime’s head, pulling him towards him and kissing him soundly, sighing into his open mouth, because, really, doing something like that was far easier than talking about cooped up and complicated emotions.

He reached out for the lube, then, and threw it into Hajime’s hands as he pressed their foreheads together. Tooru exhaled hard as he felt his sleek fingers at his entrance, and the touch was eager and yet so gentle, as though Tooru were an precious object, though the thought is halted as he keens and whines and pushed himself down onto Hajime’s finger until he added a second, and then he was simply riding on them, really.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tooru swore softly, “Oh, _Hajime_ — you feel so _good_ —” he moaned, loudly as Hajime hooked his fingers upwards, “ _Hajime_ ,” he groaned, “Wait, _ah_ — stop.”

Hajime froze immediately.

“Yeah— yeah,” he stammered, evidently terrified “Are you— are you okay? Did I do anything—”

“I want you inside me.”

“Oh.” Hajime breathed, and he was blushing furiously, “ _Oh_ — yeah, okay.”

“Okay?” Tooru teased as Hajime pulled his fingers out slowly, “ _Just_ ‘okay’?”

“Don’t be an ass.” he replied, face warm.

“You _like_ my ass.” said Tooru. He took the initiative to push Hajime onto his back and straddled him as he stared up at Tooru, eyes dark with lust and arousal, though there was something else there, too.

“That doesn’t mean you have to _be_ one.” he said, and Tooru smiled at him. Hajime smiled back, too, and Tooru could physically feel his pulse quicken and own grin widen. The intensity of the feelings of nothing but _love_ must have shown plainly in his face, and it was overwhelming, though Tooru wasn’t terrified, and simply let himself be swept away with it, for now.

Tooru squeezed out some lube into his hand and gave Hajime’s cock a few strokes as he groaned, and then he positioned himself over it and guided it into himself, head falling back, and once his inner thighs were flush up against Hajime’s tanned hips, he started to move. Hajime made the sound of a dying man.

“ _Tooru_ ,” he breathed and threw his head back, palms travelling up and down Tooru’s back and thighs.

Tooru rolled his hips fluidly and moaned loudly. Hajime was not able to move. He could only stare up at the sight of Tooru’s flushed cheeks and mouth hanging open. He felt himself lose control, then, and he tightened the hold on Tooru’s jutting hipbones, surely leaving a bruise.

“You feel good— fuck, _Tooru_ ,” he moaned.

He never let anyone come inside of him, because he didn’t like the permanence, and it was sort of disgusting to him, really, the thought of someone leaving their mark on him. Hajime was the exception.

It was the feeling of Hajime’s warm, sticky load shooting inside of him with a loud cross between a moan and a groan that teetered him over the edge, and Tooru came a few moments later, mouth hanging open as he let out a keening moan himself, and then relaxing, panting wildly.

He gave Hajime this silly, lopsided and utterly exhausted smile, and then let Hajime slip out of him, falling onto his back and lying down next to Hajime, who wrapped his arms around him and clutched him tightly, as though he were afraid he would disappear into thin air.

Tooru felt so damn happy he couldn’t even muster his heart to be worried about anything.

“Next time we’re doing this to Radiohead or something,” sighed Hajime.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tooru laughed, “Alright.”

Hajime snorted, then.

“I remember when I met you in high school,” he said, “I thought you were so alternative. I never thought you’d love David Bowie this much.”

Tooru grinned.

“It’s the space references that get to me, really.” he replied, “Though, Radiohead are alright, I _guess_.”

“Good.” Hajime agreed.

“Yeah.”

They were silent, for a while, and Tooru linked their fingers together. He was laughing, softly, and not because anything was funny, he was just so damn happy.

“Hey,” whispered Hajime after a moment, “I love you.”

Tooru grinned, and he felt his chest tighten and throat constrict.

“I love you, too.” he replied, softly, and Hajime hummed sleepily in response, curling closer to Tooru.

They listened to each other breaths slow down and synchronise.

“You make me happy.” Tooru hushed, and he was sort of worried his voice would break completely, or that he’d start crying.

“You make me happy, too,” replied Hajime in a quiet voice, “I mean, and also super horny, but that’s not the point.”

Tooru laughed and reached up to kiss Hajime, again, and again, and _again_ —

 

**_1 day before_ **

The rain was falling so hard that Tooru could barely hear Hajime’s voice. It sounded as though there was a battering ram thundering repeatedly on top of the roof of Hajime’s second-hand car, the one with the stained upholstery and that sort of smelt of old vomit, or something.

“Tooru, don’t cry...”

They were parked in front of IKEA, of all places. They were going to buy a new mattress for their apartment, and they needed some new plates, too. They had been sitting in the car for so long that the windows fogged up.

“I’m not fucking crying,” Tooru said in between sobs. He looked away from Hajime, and wiped his eyes roughly.

“You are,” he replied, softly, “You knew that this would eventually happen.”

Tooru knew that he hurt Hajime’s feelings when he shrugged the hand off his shoulder that was settled there. He didn’t care though. He was in too much pain.

“I didn’t,” Tooru coughed and shook his head, “Never mind, it’s fine— let’s just go and—”

“You didn’t let me finish,” interrupted Hajime in a frustrated voice, “I’m moving to Kyoto for my master’s and I—”

“You don’t want to do long distance,” Tooru finished harshly, “I heard you the first time, I’m not fucking brain-dead, Hajime.”

“Well, maybe you are.” snapped Hajime, “You’re not listening to me.”

“I am,” said Tooru, “I’m—”

“I want you to come with me.”

Tooru wrenched his head to stare at Hajime.

“What?” he said quietly.

“I want you to come with me.” Hajime repeated.

“Why?”

Hajime looked at Tooru for a moment and blinked at him, then sighed, “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Tooru answered dumbly.

“It’s because— it’s because I love you,” said Hajime slowly, staring straight ahead of him and avoiding Tooru’s gaze, “I’m— I want you with me, okay?”

“What if I said I couldn’t?” Tooru replied softly. He could feel his eyes sting behind closed lids.

“I’d still go.” he answered, and Tooru tore open his eyes to stare at him. He had tears in his eyes, too.

“Tokyo didn’t accept me for my master’s, and I need one,” he continued, “There’s no other way, Tooru.”

Tooru bit his lip and shook his head, turning his head to look out of the window. Tears were streaming down his cheeks once more.

“I can’t just— I can’t just _leave_ here,” Tooru said, “I’d— I’d need to find work and everything... God, Hajime. I can’t just— _leave_.”

Hajime snorted.

“You know,” he said softly, “When I... back in high-school, you never would have said that, you know.”

Tooru frowned and wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater— of _Hajime’s_ sweater, truthfully.  He stole it that morning.

“I’ve changed.”

“I know.” replied Hajime, as though it were the easiest thing to say in the whole world.

They were silent, then.

“You’re just going to leave, then? Next week?” asked Tooru, his voice fragile and breaking, “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” answered Hajime, “I thought— I knew that you’d—”

“What do you know?” Tooru snapped.

Hajime was silent for a moment.

“Nothing,” he said, “I thought you’d— I thought you’d come with me, since... Since, y’know...”

“I don’t know.”

Hajime sighed.

“Since we’re in this for the long-shot, since the beginning,” he answered, “Right?”

Tooru shrugged.

Hajime frowned.

“I don’t think we should talk for a while,” Tooru choked out, and opened the door of the car, stepping outside, walking away from Hajime. It was far too much.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hajime shouted after him. Tooru stopped, suddenly.

“I don’t know!” he shouted after him, throwing his hands up in the air. It was raining, still, and thunder roared.

“Just go!” he screamed, “Just leave, okay? I don’t _need_ you,” he sneered, “I don’t need anyone.”

Hajime stepped out of the car, then, too.

 “I thought you were good at endings.” he said, voice breaking, “Back then, on the train— _Tooru_ —”

Tooru shook his head and looked away. His throat was closing and he was on the verge of outright sobbing.

“You know me now. I’m only good at beginnings.”

Hajime nodded and stepped back inside of the car, turning on the ignition and leaving Tooru alone there in the parking lot. Families with children shielded their eyes away from him, which was righteous, because the heavens opened up above him and poured down as he collapsed and sobbed.

He never felt so alone in his whole goddamn life.

He didn’t say goodbye.

 

**_17 days after_ **

It had been a while since he saw the train station where it all began, and the weeks after the ‘ _IKEA incident_ ’, as Koushi had called it. Koushi was this _horrifyingly_ polite yet ambitious guy from Tooru’s course. They had a lot in common, that way. He briefly was his flatmate, too, before Koushi had moved in with his boyfriend, Daichi, who, oddly enough, was in Hajime’s course. Tooru sometimes thought that they were like Hajime and him if they were normal and had their shit together, and all, because nothing about Hajime and him was truly ordinary, not the way they met and, evidently, not the way they ended.

They were impossible. They always had been.

The odds were stacked against them from the day they met on that train all those years ago to the second time to the third and last. Koushi and Daichi, on the other hand, were completely ordinary, and perfectly so. They’d met through common friends. Their first date was coffee. They went out a couple of times and then went steady. They had a cat, together, and a neat flat.

They had their shit together. They’d stay together, forever.

Tooru and Hajime, on the other hand, were doomed from the start. So it goes.

It’d been a while since Tooru had seen Koushi, and when he knocked on the door to his apartment, Daichi answered it after a while with dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, “It’s— four in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Tooru answered, “Sorry— I should have called you.”

“No,” Daichi sighed and opened the door a little wider, ushering Tooru inside, “It’s fine. Just— keep quiet, alright? Koushi’s asleep in the bedroom.”

Tooru was taken aback by the fatigue showing plainly on Daichi’s face.

“He’s not feeling great today,” said Daichi, “You want a drink, or something?”

“Sure.” Tooru agreed, and he followed Daichi into the kitchen and sat down at their table. The hum of the refrigerator was loud, and the hiss of the cap as Daichi opened a beer for Tooru was loud, too.

They were silent, for a moment, and Tooru briefly considered leaving and apologising, or something, apologising for intruding into their perfect life with his fucked up issues.

“Have you heard from Hajime lately?”

Tooru choked on his bear and he coughed, loudly. Daichi hit him on the back.

“Sorry,” said Daichi, though it sounded like a question.

Tooru caught his breath.

“He writes to me.” he said.

“Write to you?”

“Yeah,” Tooru answered, “He writes me letters.”

There were 45 in Tooru’s top dresser drawer, stacked neatly. Some were light and some were thick, almost small packages. Tooru didn’t open a single one. He couldn’t bring himself to, it was too painful and raw and he’d only end up bawling, or something.

“Whatever,” Tooru frowned and he dug inside of his coat pocket for some cigarettes, “We broke up, and that’s the end of it.”

 “Don’t smoke in here,” said Daichi absently, “Koushi hates the smell.”

Tooru frowned and looked down at the label of his beer bottle, and they were silent, for a while.

“You don’t look great.” Daichi said carefully.

“I don’t _feel_ great.” replied Tooru.

Daichi didn’t say anything further or ask what happened, because Daichi wasn’t the prying type, though he seemed as though he wanted to ask, but didn’t have the courage to, or didn’t think it was right, or something. Daichi had this innate sense of morals.

“He asked me to go with him,” Tooru said, eventually, “I said no.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” asked Daichi, and Tooru was taken aback at the sheer outraged expression on his face.

“What?”

“I said, ‘are you fucking crazy?’” repeated Daichi, and he seemed a little angry, even, “Why did you say no?”

Tooru opened his mouth, though nothing came out for a long while.

“What was I supposed to do?” he exploded, “Leave everything behind?”

“You have two friends; Koushi and me,” Daichi said, “You’re wasting away, here. What do you really have? Some posters, a metro card, and a really shitty couch.”

Tooru frowned and he drowned his beer, and then slammed it back onto the table.

“The fuck— you’re not my fucking mother,” he growled.

“Well, maybe I should be because you really look like _shit_ , Tooru.”

“What the fuck do you even know about me?” demanded Tooru, “You don’t know me at all. You never will.”

“I know what it’s like to lose someone important.” his voice croaked. Daichi looked as though someone had stabbed him right here and now in the stomach, or something.

“There’s something wrong with Koushi,” he said, closing his eyes, “He’s got a tumour in his liver.”

Tooru froze.

“What?” he said weakly.

“He’s got a tumour in his liver.” Daichi repeated.

“He’s too young for that.” replied Tooru.

Daichi laughed a little at that.

“He’s twenty-five,” said Daichi, “That’s— he’s an adult, Tooru. It’s not abnormal.”

Tooru was silent, then.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he could feel his eyes burn behind closed lids, “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“It’s alright,” replied Daichi, even though it really wasn’t, and his voice was wavering,“I just— I’m not going to leave him, y’know? You have to hold onto what you’ve got.”

Tooru started sobbing, then.

“You’re such a moron, Tooru.” said Daichi, later that night as the sun rose, slowly, and the kitchen was transformed into an array of warm shades of yellow and orange and red.

Koushi woke up an hour afterwards, and he agreed that Tooru was a moron, and Koushi was _always_ right, and so Tooru left with a heavy heart and the biting urge to smoke a whole goddamn pack of cigarettes.

He cried on the train home, too, because it was the same train he’d met Hajime on.

“Hey,” said the brooding teenager who’d sat next to him as the carriage rattled on, “You okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah,” replied Tooru, “I’m fine.”

It was strange, being in the same spot as when he met Hajime the first and the second and the last time. The teenager got off at the next stop, and it was far too early in the morning for the carriage to be full, and so Tooru found himself sitting all alone, staring out of the window, and then on to the seat in front of him.

It was then that the notion of trying to find the same goddamn seat they’d sat in when they met each time hit him, and he laughed at himself for the bizarre idea, but then he remembered something important. He knew where to look to find it, and he was surprised it was still there or there at all, really. 

One year ago, they’d gone out for drinks, or something, and ended up in the train. Tooru was sprawled in Hajime’s lap and they kissed for a long while until Hajime dug out a permanent marker out of his pocket and grinned.

‘ _This is vandalism, Hajime._ ’

‘ _Well, what can I say— I heard you like bad-boys._ ’

The inscription, ‘ _O.T. and I.H. were here – 2015_ ’, sprawled in Hajime’s horrid handwriting, was still there. Tooru trailed his fingers over it and he traced the letters. Beneath it, though, there was something else, a strange shape underneath the letters that, at a glance, looked like a stain, or something.

As the carriage swayed into a tunnel, Tooru brought his face closer, and when he realised what it was, his breath hitched.

It was a heart, a tiny, small and lopsided heart, drawn in the same goddamn pen.

Tooru understood, in that moment, as the robotic voice announced to ‘ _Alight here for regional railway systems_ ’ above him, that Iwaizumi Hajime had drawn a heart under their initials when Tooru wasn’t looking.

‘ _You’re the only person I’d allow to be shrunken down to a tiny microscopic size submersible machine and swim around inside me—_ ’

Tooru felt tears prick his eyes as he stared at the heart. He found himself crying alone in the train, and when Tooru entered his empty apartment in the early afternoon, he decided to open the mountain of letters from Hajime. He lit a cigarette, poured himself some whiskey, and retrieved the letters from the drawer, situating himself on the floor, avoiding the bed. He’d even slept on the couch. It felt painful to sleep in the bed— _their_ bed, as it used to be.

In the first letter he read, Hajime was sort of standoffish and hesitant and yet warm. He told Tooru about what it was like in Kyoto, and generic things, really. Tooru set it face-down to his left. The next few were an approximation of the same tone.

The letters began to get a little more reflective and nostalgic, after that, because imagining the future was sort of nostalgic, really.

‘ _Tooru—_

_It was weird, today, because it started to rain and I talked with my advisor about my dissertation and he said that I should go to the astronomy wing for some equipment or figures  or whatever, and they’ve got this planetarium, where you can see all the cycles when it’s dark. It’s amazing. I think you’d really like it._

_Hajime_ ’

Tooru bit his lip to avoid it wobbling. He dropped the letter onto the pile and opened the next. It was smudged, and messier than the first.

‘ _Tooru—_

_I’ve been spending a lot of time in the planetarium, now. The receptionist already knows me. If you were here, you’d probably say she’s flirting with me, or something._

_I changed my research topic now, too, just a little bit. At first I wanted to do it about condensed matter and do something experimental, but I changed it to accreting neutron stars and black holes._

_This probably tells you nothing, but, I mean, I doubt you’re reading these anyway. You probably threw them in the trash or hid them in a drawer, or something. You’re probably smoking again, too._

_If you’re around, you should come and visit. The receptionist gave me a free pass to the planetarium._

_Hajime_ ’

Tooru saw a tear drop onto the paper, and he reread the letter twice. He finished, then, and it was four in the afternoon.

He ran out the door, and all he needed, besides his jacket, was his phone.

“Hey,” he spoke into the receiver, “Daichi, I need a favour— I need to borrow your car.”

 

The campus of Kyoto was larger than Tooru had expected, and it was affluent. Daichi’s old Mustang stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d been driving for six hours. His mind had become less and less clouded as the hours passed, and as he parked his car horrifically, Hajime had always questioned how he’d managed to get his licence, he pressed into the array of students.

Tooru could feel his chest ache and his limbs hurt and his lungs burnt, too, from all the goddamn cigarettes he smoked on the way, and he ended up in the makeshift lobby of the main building.

He walked up to the receptionist in a hurry.

“Hi,” he said, a little out of breath and a little too loudly, slamming his car keys down on the table, “I’m looking for Iwaizumi Hajime. He’s a student here.”

“Alright,” replied the blonde girl with a wavering smile, likely because Tooru _did_ look like a fucking mess, his hair was horrid, it clung to his forehead, and he had dark circles under his eyes, “One moment, please.”

She typed in some information into the computer perched in front of her and paused, briefly.

“He’s not in class, at the moment,” she said, hesitantly, “Sorry. I can’t tell you where he is.”

Tooru felt his shoulders drop.

“You— are you sure?” he asked.

She bit her lip.

“Please,” whispered Tooru, “It’s really, _really_ important.”

She sighed.

“Wait here.” she said and turned around, walking into the small backroom of the reception before returning with a phone, staring at the screen while jotting something down on a small piece of paper, “He lives on 28 Ichinomiya Street, in apartment 3E. Just don’t— don’t tell anyone I gave you the address. I’m actually not allowed to give residential information.”

Tooru laughed breathlessly.

“Thank you.” he said, and then he bolted once more.

It wasn’t far, thankfully, though Tooru was still out of breath as he arrived and stared up at the array of flats. It was intimidating. He entered, regardless, and as he knocked on the door of apartment 3E and Hajime tore it open, standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, he could only stare at him.

“Oh.” said Hajime after a long while, and his voice almost sounded like a whisper. Tooru’s throat tightened and, for the first time, he realised just how utterly fucked he was because _God_ , he was just so in love with this man.

“Hey,” Tooru said weakly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly. He didn’t sound angry, though his voice was a little hurt, and cold and unfamiliar. Hajime holds the doorframe tightly, and Tooru fought back the urge to kiss him and never let go and tell him everything that happened since he left and tell him about Koushi and everything and to just _hold_ him, tightly, and never let go, and to sleep next to him, and nothing more.

Tooru didn’t answer. He could only lick his lips and inhale a shaking breath.

Hajime sighed and opened the door, turning his back to Tooru and gesturing for him to come in without even saying it.

“Can we— can we talk? Just for a couple of minutes?” Tooru asked.

“Five minutes,” Hajime resonated. He blinked hard. He didn’t meet Tooru’s eyes, and suddenly, Tooru didn’t know what to say. He could have explained his reasons for coming here— why now, why today? Though he didn’t know how to phrase his thoughts probably, they were stars he could not fathom into constellations.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Hajime licked his lips before shaking his head, and saying, voice slowly becoming thick, “Fucking _finally_.”

Tooru gave him a watery smile. He was crying, again, though he couldn’t care less.

“Is that it, then?” Tooru said, and he suddenly is taken back to that time in the kitchen at Hajime’s old flat, when he’d confessed everything, and then they went out to buy milk, and he’d laughed and laughed and _laughed_ until—

“What did you think it would be like?” he replied.

Tooru’s bottom lip shook.

“I don’t know.” he answered in earnest.

“Did you... did you get my letters?” Hajime asked.

“Yeah,” Tooru whispered, “I did.”

Hajime sighed once more and ran a hand through his hair. He looked thinner, and paler, too. All Tooru could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss the back of his neck, bury his face in his shoulder and hold him and promise him that they’d be alright, though he couldn’t do that, not now and not ever, because he fucked up, and he might not be able to fix it, this time.

“You didn’t respond.” Hajime said with painful resignation, “All you had to do was respond, Tooru... Just write to me once.”

“I’m sorry—” Tooru sobbed.

“You were right the first time. You’re only good at beginnings.”

Tooru felt frozen, and he couldn’t move. He was sort of worried he would vomit or faint, he felt so goddamn dizzy.

“This isn’t how—” Hajime paused, “You should probably go.” he finished. Tooru wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and tried to catch his breath.

“I don’t want to.”

“Well,” Hajime said simply, with a horrid sense of composure as Tooru fell apart, “the world isn’t a fucking wish-granting factory, Tooru.”

He must have moved, then, at some point, because he saw the door of Hajime’s apartment shut and heard the doorjamb click into place.

Tooru forced himself to take a deep breath and tried to steady his hands and stop crying, though it didn’t work. He slid down to sit in front of the door, pressing his cheek against it.

“Hajime...,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you... do you remember when we wrote our initials in that train?” he said, then, forcing himself to make his voice loud enough so that Hajime could hear, if he were on the other side of the door, “You drew a heart underneath. I found it, and I never... I never knew...”

He inhaled a shaky breath and paused.

“I love you.” he said, and he couldn’t stop the bone-shuddering sob from erupting deep inside his chest, though he continued talking, regardless, “I love you so much it scares me because... You’re the only person... You’re the only person I’d allow to be shrunken down to a tiny microscopic size submersible machine and swim around inside me.” he said, and it was all he managed before he buried his face into his hands.

It was a pointless fight. He had nothing left to say.

“I love you.” he whispered, and then it was over, really over. He stood, then, balancing himself on shaking knees, and at least he could tell Koushi and Daichi that he tried, sort of. He tried to have faith in them, in Hajime and him, though it was painful to believe in something for so long that never really was there in the first place, he supposed, at least from Hajime’s side.

He took the first step away from Hajime’s door and everything he ever had or could have had.

He stopped when the door opened and heard a rough voice say, “You’re such a fucking goddamn _asshole_ , Tooru.”

Tooru cried, then, _really_ cried. He’d thought that at this point he’d be too damn dehydrated to still have tears fall down his face, though, as he felt Hajime’s hands touch his jaw and cheek and tangle in his hair, and then press his forehead against Tooru’s, he let lose a watery, snob-filled sob.

“God,” said Hajime, and he was crying too, “You’re an asshole, and I love you so much.”

“I’m sorry.” Tooru shuddered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck everything up.”

“You didn’t fuck everything up,” Hajime said softly, “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want— no one can blame you for that.”

“I _want_ to,” Tooru whispered, clinging onto Hajime with innate desperation, “I want to stay with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do I have holding me back in Tokyo?” Tooru echoed Daichi’s words.

Hajime laughed, and he could hear the tears in his voice.

“A shitty sofa,” he said, “and David Bowie on vinyl.”

Tooru laughed, then, too.

“Do you even have a record player in this shithole?” he asked.

Hajime tightened his grip on Tooru.

“No,” he answered, “I guess you’ll just have to bring yours out here.”

 

**_342 days after_ **

‘ _When you were here before— couldn’t look you in the eye— you’re just like an angel— your skin makes me cry..._ ’

“You are _not_ fucking me to Radiohead, it’s just sad-bastard music— _oh_ , God, _Hajime_...”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s unfair, _Hajime_ —”

Hajime pressed a searing kiss to Tooru’s jaw and neck.

‘ _You float like a feather— in a beautiful world— I wish I was special— you’re so fucking special..._ ’

“You feel so good, Tooru,” he hummed as Tooru threw his head back and arched up.

There was some tapping on the linoleum floor of their bedroom, then, and Tooru craned his neck to stare back at the dog.

“I thought you were supposed to be low maintenance,” he grumbled at it, “Can’t you wait five minutes?”

“I could say the same thing about you.” replied Hajime with a laugh, and the dog jumped a little in agitation. Tooru didn’t even want to look at Hajime. He merely flopped back down onto the mattress. Hajime was the biggest pushover he’d ever met when it came to animals.

“Thirty seconds,” Hajime pleaded as he pulled away from Tooru to pad into the kitchen to grab a tin of dog food and pour it into the bowl sitting by the doorway.

“You know, Major Tom,” he said, “I’m hungry, too, buddy. You know who I’m hungry for?” he carded his fingers through the coarse fur, “Tooru.” he answered before sighing in exasperation and petting her affectionately.

“You’re so surly,” Tooru quipped from the doorway, grinning at him with his arms crossed over his chest, “Surly, with a soft centre.”

“Shut up.” he mumbled and pushed Tooru back into the bedroom, “Did you turn off Radiohead?”

“The record ended.”

The sounds of static filled the air.

Hajime hung onto Tooru till’ the needle wore out.

**Author's Note:**

> all is well!! dogs are good for the soul.


End file.
